Faux Past

I bought myself tulips this afternoon. They are the colour of pearls and lips flushed and plump from kissing. A perfect combination. They're sitting behind my computer so I don't have to look at the awful SUB travel mug in which they sit drinking. I had nothing else suitable. Juxtaposition at its worst, and yet so telling of life in university residence.

Even though I went downtown with Stella and my readings, not much work vis a vis the take home final has been accomplished today, but I'm okay with that because I have time. I did, however, make a mix of songs I'd want you to send me if you were to apologize with a burned CD. If you were to apologize. I don't know why. Because I'm stupid enough to think about these things. I mean really. Sometimes I wonder if I have hidden reserves of hopeless optimism saved just for you. I should work on that. Like, now.

I wish I could curl up in an afghan by an open window while C recites "Tongues of Men and Angels" and feeds me Philosopher's Brew tea and homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. If I was allowed to fall in love with her I would. But it's not like that's ever stopped me before.